


The Six Stages of Falling in Love

by gwvnstacys



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwvnstacys/pseuds/gwvnstacys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky couldn't quite describe it, but he felt as though falling in love with Steve came in different stages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Six Stages of Falling in Love

_First was a crush._

A harmless little crush, Bucky kept telling himself. Of course it was natural to stare at the way the sunlight filters through your best friend’s golden blonde hair. Steve was staring into an oblivion. His hand laid under his chin, supporting that brilliant head of his. Charcoal and paint smattered his face aimlessly. Steve was gently biting the end of a battered paint brush. All of this as condensed into a few seconds, although it felt like years. (Which of course, Bucky would be just fine with.)

Bucky was harmlessly reading a book. The title? Didn’t matter. All Bucky was paying attention to, was if he could be the one to be kissing those pink lips, now biting around an old paint brush.

Of course Bucky knew what would happen if people found out about this little crush. (and that’s all it is, Bucky repeated, like a prayer, only him hearing his hushed words.) Bucky knew what happened to people like him. They lay bloody in dark, glooming alley ways. But that didn’t stop Bucky from staring at Steve like he was the sun, and Bucky, Icarus, ready to fall and die into an unforgiveable ocean to see the warmth of Steve’s endless smile.

“What do you think you’re looking at, punk?” Steve asked, a small blush upon his cheeks from Bucky staring at him, as though he was a Monet in an art museum.

“Just looking at your ugly face.” Bucky spluttered back. A high blush already on his face.

Bucky looked back at Steve’s face again, just for a second.  He couldn’t help it. He sun shone too brightly to ignore.

_Next was infatuation_

They were arguing. Well, it was more like Steve yelling at Bucky, and Bucky trying to get a word in.

It all started because some lady was getting haggled by an obviously drunk man. Steve decided to play the hero again. ( _Of course!)_

A few punches were thrown, resulting in Steve having a black eye and the drunk guy with a few bruises, with a warning to never to do that again. While Steve squabbled with the intoxicated man, Bucky helped the woman walk to a cab, and pulled Steve away from the other man, punching the man in the stomach before taking off, with Steve by his side. They didn’t dare look back until they had arrived at their apartment. Hunching over, gasping for oxygen to fill their tired lungs. Bucky always worried about Steve getting hurt in reckless fights, and laid, terrified, in his bed when his mind would torture him with images of Steve getting into fights when Bucky wasn’t there to save his ass.

Now they were in the apartment. Bucky inspecting every inch of Steve, just too calm his concise, and to make sure Steve was still breathing, even though he had resulted in nothing else but a nasty black eye. After making sure that Steve, was in fact, still alive, Bucky grabbed a wet wash cloth and cleaned the blood and dirt off of Steve’s shiner. Everything was quiet for a while, up until the moment Steve started shouting at Bucky.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” He would always say.

“I’m just making sure you don’t die, Steve.” Bucky would reply. The wash cloth picked up everything it could already, but Bucky still kept it circling over part of the bruise. Bucky touching Steve just helped him clear his head.

“I needed to do what was right, Buck.”

“You sound like your soldier already Steve.” Bucky said with a breathy laugh.

Steve looked into his lap and said nothing.

“You don’t actually want to join, do you?” Bucky’s voice cracked, but he will never admit it. He wanted to look Steve in the eyes, so he would know it was a lie.

Steve took a deep sigh, and shrugged. He looked Bucky in the eyes.

Steve’s Eyes were almost the color of a stormy night, only with more blue, not quite the azure of the sky on a cloudless day. But Bucky would much rather the sky to resemble the beautiful shade of blue in Steve’s eyes. His pretty pink mouth was set in a long line. Bucky much rather his mouth in one of the golden smiles, that shone every once-in-a-blue-moon. The smile had only appeared a number of times that Bucky knew him, and every single time, there would be a crinkle near his eyes, and he appeared to be almost god-like. His laugh would be rumbling, although his stature was quite the opposite.

Steve wasn’t lying.

The thing that upset Bucky the most, was if Steve went into the war, he would most certainly die. And Bucky was almost prepared to do the same after him.

 

_Next was adoration_

Everything in the camp reminded Bucky of Steve. From the smell of the wilderness to the stench of stale coffee. Even, simply nothing, reminded Bucky about the growing ache he felt in his heart for Steve.

The men asked if he had a sweet heart at home. At first he said no, knowing that he only had feeling for Steve, and knowing no one (maybe not even Steve) could ever know about his adoration on the beautiful blonde hair boy, waiting for him at their Brooklyn apartment.

Then another soldier, Dum Dum was his name, started talking about his sweet heart. Nothing fancy, talking about how their super talented in dancing and could spin circles around anyone of them. Then he looked at Bucky and raised his eyebrow, as though he had given Bucky a secret. Of course Bucky realized what Dum Dum had given him and used it to his advantage.

Bucky started telling them about Stevie, (a nickname Steve refused to be called by in public) who had beautiful gold hair and eyes bluer than the sky. He started telling them how Stevie was an excellent artist, could do anything with a few paints and a broken brush. He drawled about how Stevie couldn’t dance for shit and how he snored like a mad man. He talked about how much he missed Stevie, and how about if he could see him again, he would gather up all his courage and finally kiss ‘em.

But every day inside of this camp just made his hope disappear, Bucky missed Steve so much.

He no longer wished Steve was with him once he was strapped down to a table, burning chemicals flowing in his veins. All that kept him sane, was the thought of Steve sitting happy in their apartment in Brooklyn.

Bucky didn’t know if know if he was upset or gleeful whenever he finally saw Steve’s face. While being strapped in this table, Bucky kept seeing Steve, so Bucky had finally realized that they were just cruel dreams. There was no way for Steve to even be here. It didn’t make it hurt any less.

So when saw those bright blue eyes, he couldn’t believe it. He only got up and held the man that had his best friend’s eyes, when he heard the first explosion. Once he was running did he realize that it was truly Steve, from the posture to the large nose. It was defiantly his Steve. Just somehow he was different.

Later that night did Steve tell Bucky that he had gone through an experiment that made him a super soldier or something, but Bucky only worried and haggled Steve about joining. Bucky stopped when Steve told him that he missed him so much. He smiled and laid down with his friend, his heart skipping a beat when Steve laid his hand on Bucky’s waist. Bucky wanted to relive this moment forever, but sleep tugged at his eyelids until he welcomed the darkness.

_Next was deep affection_

The train was going too fast to hold on forever. No matter how hard Steve tried to reach for Bucky’s hand, it didn’t matter. Bucky was already willing to die for Steve, and now the gods were just trying to test it. And while the chilling air was quickly flowing past him, the metal bar broke off, only allowing Bucky to yell Steve’s name before falling too far down.

That was fine. If any word had to be his last, he was glad it was Steve’s.

The image of the train and Steve was slowly getting smaller, almost as if everything was in slow motion. He wished that Steve didn’t look so sad, after all, he wanted to remember him smiling.

So while falling slowly to his immediate death. He remembered that day in Brooklyn when Steve had gotten new paints.

It was too sunny for New York, but summer was closing in at them. Bucky had gotten a nice job at the docks, not too far away from home. The job also gave him an advance on his pay check, and now they found that they had a few extra dollars. (An event that rarely happens.) So Bucky and Steve decided to go shopping. First getting a few groceries, then Steve’s meds, and now simply walking past the shopping district.

With the exactly three dollars left to spend, they had bought some ice cream, Bucky with chocolate and Steve with vanilla.

The hot sun had already started to melt the ice creams, resulting Steve to lick the sides of the cone. As they walked, Steve saw the bright colors of the paints and Bucky could never resist Steve’s puppy dog face. The smile that Steve gave to Bucky was reward enough.

So as the now approaching ground starts to grow larger in Bucky’s vision, He just remembers the glowing smile on Steve’s face and hits the ground content.

 

_Next was a memory_

The sunlight was almost golden on the white celling. The time was around five and the soldier still couldn’t sleep. No matter what or when, the images that bombarded him once he closed his eyes made his heart ache so badly.

Every night he saw glimpses of a blond hair boy with eyes as blue as the clearest ocean. The boy was almost always smiling and laughing, telling him that he was a punk. The soldier never seemed offended that this boy would call him that, although the pain in his chest grew a little more.

The dreams with the boy were very common. Most were happy, and made the soldier yearn for another body beside him. Making him wake up with a hole in his chest.

But not all were happy. Some were the opposite.

Some were about a train. The boy (not quite the same size, but the same boy nonetheless) had tears in his eyes, repeating the same name over and over again, his hand reaching out for the soldiers. But every time, no matter what, he fell, his last breath expelling the boy’s name.

Some were about the boy with tears spilling out of eyes, sniffling. He was crying over the soldier for some reason. Sniffling about what he was going to do without him, how he would function if he died. The soldier held the boy while his small body wracked with tears, hugging the soldier with a death grip more impressive than his.

In this dream he always hugged the boy back, brushing the boy’s blonde hair through his fingers, burying his nose in the boy’s neck and hoped that the boy would stop crying.

The boy always cried for him not to go, saying that they could just run away. The soldier always wanted to accept the offer, but his mouth never moved. Instead he kissed the top of the blonde’s hair, his own tears falling down his face. He never said anything in the dream except “I’m with you till the end of the line, buddy. I’ll come back, I promise.”

The soldier doesn’t know how, but he knows he never fulfilled that promise.

-

He sees the boy’s face everywhere.

In every victim, in every child. He can’t get rid of the image of the boy with the golden hair. Some mornings, when he does sleep, he finds himself waking up in a pool of tears, his dream slipping through his fingers.

But now, this man, who is his next target, resembles the boy entirely. He can’t kill the man, no matter how much he tries. He needs to ask him how he can get rid of the dreams. He needs to know how to get rid of this ghost. He needs to ask the man why every time he looks him, the same ache from the dreams forms in his chest. He ~~knows~~ knew him

But his mouth never moves. It’s almost like he is in one of the dreams, except its different. In the dreams, the same things happen, no matter what, like it’s rehearsed. But right now, he doesn’t know what to do.

And as his metal arm hits the man’s face, it’s almost like a switch flips in his head. Memories come flooding back. Not all but some, a few. The soldier keeps trying to sift through them, trying to make sense of them.

Another punch to ~~Steve’s~~ the man’s face.

“I’m with you till the end of the line.”

A tear slips down the soldiers face.

 

_And finally there was…_

I see his face whenever I wake up in the morning. His actual face, not the dream faces that no longer haunt me. I see his big nose and golden hair every morning whenever I wake up, I can reach out and touch him whenever I’m not sure if this is a dream or real life.

Due to over exasperating his energy through the day, Steve sleeps like a rock. He never wakes up until I get him up, which means he almost never wakes up early in the morning. Until this morning.

When I wake up I see the blue eyes that have kept me sane through so much. His thumb is slowly making circles on my check. The sun is just barley up and is slowly filtering through the closed blinds of ~~the~~ _our_ room. I give him a small smile with a small “Hey.”

He smiles back at me. The ache that I used to feel is no longer there anymore.

After pulling Steve back to shore, I fled. Trying to sort out the feelings, and memories that was now part of me. Steve didn’t find me until two months later.

He found me at our abandoned apartment building, with me asleep in our old bed. He gently woke me up and just gave me one of his once-in-a-blue-moon smiles. I had finally found my home, a person with two legs and a big heart, instead of a building. At first I wanted to see his face and not feel a thing. But now I’m glad that he found me.

At first he was tentative, like he had found a rabid dog on the street. Never wanting to cross a line in case I blew up.

 I asked a lot of question, most of which Steve was glad to answer until I asked, “Did you ever love me?” He then spluttered his mouthful of drink and blushed until he turned red.

“Um, Bucky.” He started until I spoke.

“It’s just I have all these memories of me falling in love with you, but I don’t know if you ever felt the same for me.” Steve still didn’t say anything, but his blush told me all I needed to know.

I got up from my seat at the table and grabbed his face between my hands. I looked him straight in the eyes. He was holding his breath, his eyes wide. We stayed in that inevitable showdown until he finally reached forward and connected our lips together.

I reacted almost immediately. I didn’t think I would ever have this opportunity again, fearing that this was all just a cruel dream, that he would wake up and all of this would be gone.

The kiss ended only when I needed a breath. Steve gave a beautiful big smile, with me giving him the same.

And now here I am with Steve, laying in this bed that’s a little too small for the both of us. It doesn’t matter that much. Our usual sleeping arrangement includes me laying on Steve’s chest and both of his arms wrapped around me, much like he did in that dream of whenever I left him. It’s almost like he’s worried that I will leave again. That whenever he wakes up, I will have disappeared in the night, like a ghost.

But I will never leave him again. It will just be us, together, like this, for as long as he lets me be at his side.

Sometimes it’s not always like this. Sometimes Steve must leave for a mission or vice versa. I would much rather go on missions with Steve, so at least there will be an anchor for whenever I worry that I’m becoming the winter soldier again. But then again I would much rather prefer Steve not see any of what I do on missions.

Sometimes I wake up, screaming. Visions of what I had done while being the soldier haunts my dreams. But Steve is always there to calm me down, and tell me that it wasn’t me and that he loves me. But the thing is, it was me, my hands, it was all me. I don’t know how Steve can love a monster, but I won’t question it. He does the same thing some nights. I’m always there to hold him, and tell him I love him. How could I not love him?

Sometimes we argue. Usually about nothing big. I thought you were coming home tomorrow, I thought you got the groceries, you need to start taking your medication Bucky. Things like that. It always ends with me falling asleep alone and Steve sneaking into the bed again, saying he was sorry or me saying it. We always wake up happy. And that’s what I love most.

So as I look into the eyes of the person I love most, I say the words I’ve been keeping in for almost a century. “I love you, Stevie?”

He just smiles at me and leans down to kiss me, saying the words I’ve always wanted to hear “I love you too Bucky.”


End file.
